Really, Alfred? Really?
by Shikajino
Summary: Sometimes, Americas stupid can only lead to England's inevitable facepalming.  Mostly crack. No parings.


I know how people say that I'm stupid or an idiot or ignorant or naïve or—well, I could go on, but I'd rather not (I _do_ have a self-esteem to uphold, you know). The truth of the matter is this; I'm not any of those things. I may _act _like them sometimes, but that's not how I really am. I just know what I want to say and try to say it in as best a way as I can get it out of my mouth.

(My brain doesn't really_ like _my mouth; they always fight and never agree on anything, which makes my mouth refuse to word what my brain thinks into any semblance of intelligence, thus making me look like a bumbling idiot. Which I'm not, believe you me.)

I love to think about things all the time. And sometimes, I think some pretty interesting ideas up. Like airplanes and sewing machines and Colt Revolvers. And doorbells. Yeah. Doorbells are so cool, amIright?

Anyway, I still don't know why England got all mad when I told him what I thought. I mean, I'm just generally curious as to why things happened the way they ended up happening. Seriously, I'm not one to pass up coincidences like the one I found. No sir re Bob, I'm not.

Maybe I should throw this thought train into reverse and back up a few miles to Explanation Station? Right! Here we go; please put your trays into the upright and locked position folks, we will soon begin trucking in the backwards direction!

* * *

><p>It was just any average day; or at least any average day that one of our lovely meetings was being held on, and I was looking at a world map.<p>

Wait; did you know those actually existed? I didn't. I seriously didn't think any other country had a map, let alone one of the whole _world_ and, guess what? Russia, yeah he's freakin' huge, man! And did you know there's a bunch of land above me called _Canada_? Yeah, it exists; I still haven't discovered it yet though, but some day I will, I assure you.

So yeah, I was looking at a world map, all chillax'n with my home broski, Matthew (déjà vu. Wasn't I just talking about him? No? Weird...), when I came across something really interesting and I just had to ask England, you know? It was one of those questions where you need to drop everything you're doing and find the answer; yeah, one of those. So I went and found England.

Which was rather difficult, let me tell you. First, I looked in the conference hall, but no go. Then the lunch room and dining hall and kitchen were all diceless; followed by all the bathrooms and the entirety of the rest of the building. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. England had left the building.

(_Actually_, he had never showed up.)

As it turns out, England—the country—had this freak snowstorm; like seriously a snow storm blizzard thingy. Loads of snow for there and, though it didn't ground the planes, it sure as hell freaked Arthur out enough to make him stay home and call in sick with a cold. You wanna know what _I _did?

That's right. I took the first flight to London I could get on just to go and see the Brit. And I showed up at his door in nothing more than my conference suit, just to show him it really wasn't all that bad outside. (Mattie calls it being passive-aggressive. Whatever _that _means. I just call it being mean in a nice way.)

He let me in ("Blimey! You'll catch your death out there dressed like that! What were you thinking, you twat!") without much discretion and sat me down at his dining room table while he mixed up some terrible tasting instant coffee. I tried to drink it, but ended up pouring it onto one of his house plants while he had his back turned. I only did it 'cause I didn't want to hurt his feelings, you know? Like, have him see my whole cup was empty so he would let me question him. I figured I'd need him in as good a mood as I could get him, so I eased into the conversation, storing my main question for later.

"So…England. How about that weather?"

"If you have only come to chide me for caa—aa—aa—," here he sneezed, following the action up with a hasty track down of a tissue box, before he finished his thought, "Sorry. Calling in sick with a cold, you may consider your welcome ill-received. The door is that way, I believe you can find your own way out?"

"No no no! I'm serious! Just, over all of the UK. How's the weather _in general_? Not today or tomorrow or—"

"I don't know how the weather's going to be tomorrow. We didn't even know we were getting this blizzard today, let alone that it would happen in the middle of the _summer_. So I don't_ know _if it will rain tomorrow or be sunny."

"—yesterday or, well. You get it, right? How's the weather?"

He gave me an off-handed looked, almost like he didn't trust me; like I was hiding something from him. Like I would ever do that; I've never hidden anything from England ever! I didn't even hide that I wanted independence back around 1776 (I mean, just because he didn't _notice _all the slamming doors, insubordination, and broken heirlooms doesn't mean I didn't do it). "The weather has generally been fine, thanks. And with you?"

"Great! The weather's been great. So, uh…guess what Artie," he scoffed at me, "I was looking at a world map today—I know right! Amazing that they exist, right? Anyway, so I was looking at a world map and, how many states make up the United Kingdom?"

He, once again, gave me a look. And not just _a_ look this time though, _the_ look. The look that you never want to get from someone; it's that one that says 'you just said/did something really stupid but I'm not gonna call you on it. Instead, I'll let you know by giving you this look so you can stew on it and never figure it out'. Creepy, I know.

But he looked at me with _the look_, shook his head, and answered me. "First off, it's the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Second, they are not states! They're," I tilted my head a bit in confusion, (Not states? What the heck? Every country is split into states, right?) and he stopped talking for a few minutes before continuing, "never mind. Third, it consists of Scotland, Northern Ireland, England, and Wales. Why?"

"Scotland, Ireland, England, and Wales?"

A sigh. "Essentially, yes. Why do you want to know that America?"

"Well, you see Artie—"

"Do stop calling me that."

"Can-Do Arta-Roo!" England's head, met England's dining room table; you're going to totes be bestest buds forevs! (Gosh, sorry. Sometimes I channel some weird habits from my people and end up sounding like Poland. My bad.) "So right, Wales? Right? Scotland, Ireland, England, and _Wales_?"

"Yes, Alfred! For the last time; The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland consists of Scotland, Northern Ireland, England, and Wales. Why is this so bloody _important _to you?"

"Why isn't it Walesland?"

His head shot up. "What?"

"Walesland? Why isn't it called Walesland?"

"What the devil do you mean, boy?"

"_Seriously_, Artie? OK, listen up and don't get lost, Kay?" There he goes, scoffing again. He's such an old man, amIright? "So, it's Scot_land_, Ire_land_, and Eng_land_. Lands of the Scots, the Ires, and the Engs; _just go with it_, and Wales. _Wales. _Es of the Wal. What does that even mean, right? So why isn't it Walesland, Land of the Wales?"

"—my house."

"What was that, Artie? I didn't quit get the first part 'cause you were talking over me. Which is rude, by the way. Just saying. Oh and you did that earlier too. I just didn't want to say anything and-"

He stood up so quickly, his chair fell backwards and onto the floor. "Get _out_ of my house. Now, America. _Go_."

"Gosh, Artie! Kay, gotcha, see ya later then, right man?"

"Out._ Now._ And don't come back until you can refrain from asking stupid questions."

"I'm going, I'm going! Tell Walesland I said 'hi,' kay?" I barely managed to dodge the saucer plate that flew at my head. It smashed harmlessly against a wall, littering the floor with pieces of porcelain and I took my leave. Quickly. (I wasn't running away though, 'cause Hero's don't run away. They retreat _strategically_.)

I seriously still don't understand how he got so mad. Maybe it was because the coffee killed his houseplant? Not like he doesn't kill them on his own anyway...

* * *

><p>Kay, so much like my other fic that had England wondering about some states that should become their own country; 'Walesland' was another shower-thought.<br>_I just can't get anything useful._ D:  
>But…America's so lovable! Like a big stupid puppy!<br>Sorry to anyone who lives in Wales...but, you have to admit; it makes so much _sense_!  
>Hope you enjoyed America's stupid, I know I did.<br>Now I should probably get back to writing ASP before anyone realizes I've been doing this instead…but-but...it's my birthday! Give me a break! D:


End file.
